HOWARD + JD + FOREVER

CORNISH, NH—In this big dramatic production that didn't do anyone any good (and was pretty embarrassing, really, if you think about it), thousands upon thousands of phonies across the country mourned the death of author J.D. Salinger, who was 91 years old for crying out loud. "He had a real impact on the literary world and on millions of readers," said hot-shot English professor David Clarke, who is just like the rest of them, and even works at one of those crumby schools that rich people send their kids to so they don't have to look at them for four years. "There will never be another voice like his." Which is exactly the lousy kind of goddamn thing that people say, because really it could mean lots of things, or nothing at all even, and it's just a perfect example of why you should never tell anybody anything.

On the one hand, it's terrible to lose two greats on the same day. On the other hand, as long as you've got to leave this life, why not go hand-in-hand, temporally speaking, with another luminary? I'm fascinated with these accidental pairings: Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Zinn and Salinger. Who else?

I knew there was something with Princess Diana, but I couldn't remember what or who! (What an implicit commentary that in itself is.) They died five days apart, but close enough that the princess/pauper juxtaposition provided irresistible fodder for commentary on our morally deprived culture etc. (Not to mention gave us a freshly abominable version of "Candle in the Wind.") The year before I had read "The Missionary Position" by Christopher Hitchens, a nasty but eye-opening little book that made me skeptical of the so-called sainthood of M.T., and the whole week embodied to me a collective orgy of guilt and fascination and the dishonest gap between what we portend to truly care about and what we really spend our time paying attention to.